Cast Me Gently Into Morning
by BeyondTheStorm
Summary: It starts with a choice. After promising that when the time came he would choose wisely, Arthur never once thought that he would make the wrong choice, but the choices that matter most aren't always what we think. *Post season 3* Oneshot, 2 parts.
1. Part 1

**A/N: **Okay, that's it, no more poking, proding, and butchering the crap out of this fic. I have been working on this for two months now, and my sister keeps laughing at me, so I'm calling it good and just posting it already.  
>So yeah, um...hello again :) It's been a while, though there are reasons for that, one being that I got a new job in December, and my freetime has become rather non-existent. The other reason is that my arm starts dying after just half an hour of typing. It makes writing a very slow process, plus I have about a hundred ideas for fics and I can't seem to just pick one.<br>Therefore, I wrote a one-shot, although I broke it into two pieces so it would be easier to digest, cause it got rather long (like everything I try to write does). This is a monumental occassion for me though, because it is an ongoing joke between me and my friends about how I can't write one-shots because all my ideas kind of explode into something epic. I have _never_ written a one-shot before, so I'm a tiny bit terrified, but oh well. I gave it my all, and despite how much of a nightmare editing this has been, I'm **extremely** proud of it.

**Title:** Cast Me Gently Into Morning  
><strong>Author:<strong> BeyondTheStorm  
><strong>Raiting:<strong> T for a bit of the language and the overall mood, I guess.  
><strong>CharactersPairings:** Just friendship here, although if you wish to interpret it otherwise, go right ahead. There's lots of Arthur, Merlin, and some others (i.e. Gwen, Gaius, Lancelot, Gwaine...)  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Parts of Season 3, including the finale. Better safe than sorry :)  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Um...angst? Lots of angst? Is that a warning?

So, just a few quick things. Number 1, the entire fic is entirely from Arthur's POV. You'll see why. I _love_ writing Arthur, because there's so much to play with, as we don't actually know how he would react to certain things. It's great fun getting to stretch his character. Also, this takes place post season 3.  
>Number 2, this is by far the angstiest (totally a word) thing I have ever written, as I actually intended to write angst for a change. Usually it just kind of happens from time to time.<br>Number 3, if you are the kind of reader that skims through paragraphs and just reads the dialogue, you will be very disappointed. This is a reflective and emotion-heavy, character development peice (at least I hope it is, because that was what I was going for), and the dialogue is not the main focus.  
>And finally, number 4, everything is intentional. I have read this at least 50 times (not even joking), and spent more time editing than actually writing it, and so unless there is a very obvious grammatical error, the way it's written and how it appears is completely intentional. However, feel free to point out anything that does seem like an error, and I shall fix it.<p>

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Merlin, but I am having great fun fangirling over the season 4 spoilers, even though I have to fangirl by myself :) I also don't own the song "Answer" by Sarah McLachlan, which is where the title sort of came from. The whole line is "Cast me gently into morning for the night has been unkind." Beautiful song. I listened to that and "Shattered" by Trading Yesterday while I worked on this (my favorite song ever! :)

I have never tried anything like this before, but I've always wanted to, and I tried my best not to make it confusing, so please be kind.

* * *

><p><strong>Cast Me Gently Into Morning<strong>

* * *

><p>He had never thought things would end up like this.<p>

He hadn't even known that something like this was possible, could barely understand why it was happening in the first place. No matter how many times Gaius tried to explain it, using different words and different examples, he was pretty sure he would never be able to fully grasp what was going on. He could very easily blame a great deal of that on the way he was brought up, raised on his father's beliefs and ideals even though he had never fully committed himself to either. Some would disagree with that, would claim he was indeed his father's son, but the proof was right in front of him, lying on a cot in the middle of Gaius' chambers.

Merlin was a living, breathing example of Arthur's defiance against the king, the very sum of all his choices over the past few years, but it was uncertain as to how long he would remain that way. Something was wrong with him, something that the prince couldn't quite wrap his head around, but he was slowly starting to realize that there were a lot of things he didn't know or understand and some he probably never would…especially when it came to _magic_.

Even more so when it came to Merlin.

He should have realized that something was wrong, should have noticed days ago, but he had been so caught up in everything else that he had only noticed as an afterthought and nothing more. After the first two weeks or so, he had finally decided to do something about Merlin. He had vowed each night to figure it out the next day, _tomorrow_, but something always came up, and the days had simply bled together until another week had gone by—three whole weeks without a proper conversation or even an attempt to deal with all the issues that needed to be addressed. He had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts and his anger that he hadn't bothered to think about the consequences—and there were _always_ consequences—and _damn it all_, he should have noticed!

It seemed that that was the story of his life though, at least where Merlin was concerned. How was it possible to miss so much about the one person he spent the most time with? Why hadn't he seen this? Why hadn't he seen any of it? It wasn't just this, whatever _this_ was, but everything else as well: the fear, the lies, the loneliness…the magic.

_Merin's_ magic, the reason his servant was lying in Gaius' chambers looking for all the world like he was dying.

If he had known it would turn out like this, he would have done things differently, would have made a different choice, but that's really what it all comes down to, isn't it?

Choices. One single choice composed of hundreds of smaller decisions.

He had thought he was done with it, that he only had to make the one choice, but _oh_ how wrong he had been, because he had never actually stopped making his choice, hadn't finished seeing it through, and now it was too late to change things, to go back and make the right one. Even though he had promised, swore it upon a funeral pyre as an oath to a noble, selfless soul, he had still managed to mess things up, to not _see_ anything that was happening until it was practically shoved in his face.

He had been asked to do only one thing—make just _one_ choice—and apparently he hadn't even been able to get that right, because Arthur had already _made_ his choice…and now Merlin was paying the price for it.

* * *

><p><em>~It starts the same as all things do, with a decision, a sacrifice, and a silent promise~<em>

* * *

><p>"…<em>Arthur Pendragon. I was hoping I'd get the chance to speak with you."<em>

It had happened a few months back, a fleeting moment that hadn't meant much at the time but that he couldn't seem to let go of now. Just another feast with noble guests: a young lord and his enchanting sister.

"_I never intended to hurt you. That isn't why I came here."_

Just another feast gone terribly wrong—an assassination attempt, a fight, pointless casualties, too many things that shouldn't have happened—and all of it ending with the brother lying on the floor of the great hall, crushed by a chandelier of all things (just another stroke of luck in a long line of circumstances), and the sister being accused of sorcery before being hauled away by the guards.

"_There's something I need to tell you. Whether or not you choose to listen is up to you, but you need to at least hear what I have to say."_

Just another day in his life, one that would fade into the background like so many others, and he couldn't help but wonder when occurrences like these had become normal. There was probably something distinctly wrong with it all, but he could never be bothered to think on it further.

Not until now.

"_One day, you are going to learn the truth about what happened tonight and what I imagine has happened countless times before, and when that time comes, you're going to have to make a choice."_

The noblewoman—the witch, according to his father—had been sentenced to death, and Arthur had watched as the pyre was built, unable to look away but at the same time not really paying it much attention. This was something else that had become normal in his life, but it was something he would never get used to. He _hoped_ he never would even though it would surely hurt less if he did, because it just didn't seem right to become accustomed to such a gruesome thing. He didn't want to look on in indifference, cold and detached.

He did not want to become like his father, not in this respect.

"_I pray for your sake that you make the right one, because some things can't be taken back. You don't always get a second chance."_

He had found himself wishing that it wasn't happening, found himself hoping that the girl would escape even though he knew she wouldn't. She had been calm and resigned when he had spoken to her, accepting of her fate.

He really hadn't wanted to be there when the pyre was lit, could barely stand the thought of it, and so when Merlin had come to him, asking if he would be needed during the execution (asking if he had to watch as someone was burned to death, a girl no older than himself), Arthur had told him no, that he wouldn't be needed. He didn't have to watch.

Arthur would never make him watch.

"_It'll hurt at first, but don't act rashly. Don't be selfish, because there will be far more at stake than you know. Resentment and anger are slow, bitter poisons…but so is regret. All actions have consequences. There is always a choice, Prince Arthur, and the right one is often not the easiest."_

He hadn't tried to get his father to see reason. He had known there would be no point, because this was one thing his father would never back down from. The king was blind to reason where magic was involved, and he had already decided the woman's fate, demanding that Arthur be present during the execution. He had wanted to say no, wanted to stay in the castle in the safety of his own room where he could look away if he so desired, where he didn't have to listen to the screams or the crackling of the fire.

"_When the time comes, please be careful. Choose based on who you are and what you want to become, not what's expected of you. No one else can make your choice for you. The actions you take and the decisions you make will have a profound effect on everything and everyone you care about. They will define you." _

He didn't want to watch, but in the end he did.

"_There is always a choice, but once made you can not take it back, so please, sire…choose wisely."_

In the end he had stood by his father and watched the young "sorceress" burn, because he owed her that much at least. While his father had looked on in grim satisfaction and vindication, he had silently paid his last respects to a woman who had done no wrong, who hadn't actually had any magic of her own, only a knack for reading the future and a desire to save her brother.

She had known she would die by coming to Camelot…and yet she came anyway.

"_I know it won't be easy…"_

That was the choice she had made.

"…_But nothing worthwhile ever is."_

* * *

><p><em>~And this is where the beginning ends, where choices are made and a world falls apart~<em>

* * *

><p>"You need to talk to him."<p>

He looked up from his desk, away from the reports that demanded his attention, his eyes falling on Gwen as the young woman stood in his doorway like she often did as of late. There was no reserve, no hesitation, just a storm of emotion in those dark eyes that spoke of disappointment and exasperation and something else he couldn't quite place, something that would probably get her reprimanded by most (because it wasn't fitting to look at the crown prince in such a way, for what right did anyone have to chastise him?).

He knew why she was there. Pretending he didn't probably wouldn't do any good. It was the same reason that had brought Lancelot to him earlier and caused Gwaine to glare at him every chance he got. It was why he was working his knights harder, keeping to himself more, and why all those who didn't _know_ were forced to walk on eggshells around him, terrified of being on the receiving end of his suddenly short, cruel temper.

Gwen was there because of _Merlin_.

It was always Merlin.

* * *

><p>"<em>You're a sorcerer."<em>

"…_Yes."_

They had been out on a small hunting trip, a chance for him to get away and simply breathe for a while, away from the court and the council and all the responsibilities that come with it. There were meetings to attend, audiences to hold, reports to read, and on top of that there was training the knights, organizing patrols, and making repairs to the city (and then there were all the visits with his father, all the reminders of what they'd lost, and seeing the man so very broken only added to the stress he had to deal with). It was hard to remember the last time he had gotten a good night's sleep.

There was still so much left to do; the city needed to heal, but in the end so did he, and it was difficult to do so within the walls of Camelot, under so many watchful eyes, and so he had left for a few days, taking Merlin, Lancelot, Gwaine, and Gwen with him. He had intended for it to be a simple, relaxing trip, but he should have known that it would turn out like everything else in his life had a tendency to.

He couldn't remember the last time a hunting trip (or any sort of outing, for that matter) had actually been simple and straightforward. If there weren't bandits, there were mercenaries or assassins, sometimes sorcerers, and if not those, then some sort of magical (and occasionally non-magical) creature.

This time around it had ended up being the latter. Apparently they had gone too far into the forest and had stumbled upon a nest of serkets. All of them had quickly taken up arms, even Gwen, although they had made certain to keep her behind them, shielded by those who were trained for this.

Despite the severity of the situation and the slight fear they had all been feeling at the time, Merlin's intense reaction to the serkets had been anything but expected.

In battle, it was not uncommon for Arthur to find Merlin lying on the ground or standing behind a tree, clearly trying to stay out of the fighting directly but at the same time not running away. It was a strange mixture of cowardice and bravery, and even though he always teased the boy about being scared while they were out on some dangerous mission, he had never actually seen true terror on his servant's face.

That had all changed while facing the serkets. Merlin had actually taken a few steps back, eyes wide and panicked, his attention fixed on the oversized black scorpions and their obviously deadly stingers. Calling out to him hadn't done any good; he was well and truly terrified for once, and if the situation hadn't been so dire, Arthur would have taken the time to ponder his servant's reaction, because there had to be a reason behind it. Fear like that always had a source.

He and his knights had jumped into the battle, trying to keep the creatures away from Gwen and Merlin, the maid trying to rouse the boy from whatever stupor he had fallen into. The fight had actually been going rather well until one of the serkets managed to knock his sword away and another slammed its tail into him (though thankfully not the stinger), sending him crashing to the ground in a daze.

The events immediately following were all a bit fuzzy. Lancelot and Gwaine had been too far away to help him, caught up in their own battles while Gwen and Merlin had been off to the side somewhere. At one point Gwen had called out to him, her voice reaching him through the haze, and then suddenly a rather long and extremely deadly stinger had been hovering over him, preparing to run him through. He had tried to move away, to reach for some sort of weapon, anything that could have protected him…and then something unexplainable had happened.

The tail hanging over him had suddenly vanished, the serket it belonged to having been thrown into a tree, screeching in pain before its body crumpled into an unmoving heap.

For a very brief moment, everything had fallen still…and then another serket had tried to stake a stab at him only to meet a similar fate, its body sailing through the air as if some invisible force had simply smacked it away like a worthless bug.

And it didn't end there.

When the third serket had been flung into a tree, someone had gasped behind him, drawing his attention away from the creatures and towards Gwen and Merlin. Gwen's hands had been pressed to her lips in shock, her eyes wide as she stared at her fellow servant, and Merlin…

Arthur was fairly certain that he would never forget what he had seen in that moment for as long as he lived.

Merlin—harmless, idiotic, gormless Merlin—had just been standing there, his eyes filled with terror and desperation, the kind that often gave birth to reckless and unplanned actions, mixed with a deep-seated sense of resignation…

…And they were the color of molten gold, burning brightly against a backdrop of blue.

Without so much as a word, his eyes had flashed again, and more of the serkets had been thrown back. Some had managed to get up, and most of them had chosen to run away, saving themselves from a quick death. All it took were a couple soft-spoken words before the remaining few had burst into flames, screeching all the while until every sound had simply died away, leaving them all in a thick and deafening silence.

* * *

><p>"I don't know what you're talking about."<p>

Even to his own ears it was a weak and obvious lie, one that only seemed to harden the look on Gwen's face. Part of him felt bad for being the reason behind it, but the rest of him was still too angry and exhausted to care right now, because no one understood. Not a single one of them could ever hope to understand what he was going through.

How were you supposed to deal with having everything you thought you knew unravel before your very eyes?

He could remember yelling at her, at all of them, feeling angry and betrayed, because none of them had reacted the way they should have, the way a person was supposed to react after being lied to by a friend for years.

"_Did you know?"_

He had accused all of them, earning him three completely different responses, all of them filled with annoyance in their own way, because by that time he had been yelling for quite a while and they had all grown tired of it.

Lancelot had been the only one of them who had known. It had been easy enough to tell simply by his reaction even though Merlin had immediately claimed that none of them had, that he hadn't told anyone.

Just one more lie on a list that surely bore hundreds.

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about, Arthur. You can't keep avoiding this."

"Avoiding what?"

"All of it! Everything! Merlin wants to talk about this, but he's afraid to say anything because you've clearly been ignoring him. It's been over a week, Arthur. You need to _talk_ to him."

He didn't say anything, because there really wasn't anything to say. He knew Gwen was right, knew that nothing had been resolved and that he needed to speak to Merlin, but until he could turn all his anger and the sense of betrayal into something that didn't feel like it might explode at any moment, he needed to stay away. He needed time to think until he could decide what to do, because in no way had he forgiven Merlin. There was a good chance he never would.

Trust was something that could easily be broken, and sometimes it just wasn't possible to restore.

He had told them all back in that clearing after a great deal of shouting on his part and pleading on Merlin's that he wouldn't say anything about the magic, that he wouldn't have the warlock arrested or even exiled. For a while Merlin had seemed relieved, perhaps even a bit happy about the whole thing…that is until Arthur had made it perfectly clear that he wanted as little to do with the boy as possible, choosing not to sack him simply because it would be a pain to find another servant and because doing so would earn him a lot of unwanted questions. He had too much to deal with already, and Merlin and his bloody magic had only piled more onto an already full plate.

He just didn't want to deal with it, and so he had convinced himself that ignoring his servant was for the best even though Merlin looked a little less hopeful, a little more broken every time Arthur chose not to acknowledge him or spoke in short, clipped off words that never hid his anger.

"Why are you being like this?"

The question was soft but still accusing, and he hated disappointing her but didn't know what else he could do.

"I trusted him," he said, hoping his voice carried the bitterness he felt instead of the hurt (it wasn't fitting for a prince to show such a weakness). "I gave him my complete trust when all he's ever done is lie to me. I defended him against countless accusations, and all the while he was probably laughing at my ignorance."

"You know that's not true. He's not like that."

"And how would you know?"

"Because unlike you, I actually _talked_ to him."

"And how do you know that everything he told you isn't a lie? How can you even trust a word he says? He's been lying to everyone for years!"

"Can you blame him?" she yelled, effectively shutting him up with just the sheer desperation in her voice, a need to make him see what the rest of them apparently could. "Think about it, Arthur, what would you have done in his place? Would you have told someone a secret like that, one that could get you killed even if you had done no wrong? Merlin never confided in any of us—everyone who already knew simply found out—and I don't blame him for it. How could any of us ever hope to understand what it's like?"

"He could have told me! I wouldn't have…" _I wouldn't have turned him in._ He couldn't bring himself to say it, because he wasn't entirely sure if it was true. He wanted to believe it was, wanted to think that Merlin could have trusted him, confided in him, because Arthur had defended him so many times against accusations where magic was involved and even when it wasn't. He had saved Merlin from death, from abuse and pain, and from his father's unjust wrath time and time again, and yet Merlin still hadn't trusted him.

"Did you ever give him a reason to believe that his secret would be safe with you?"

He scowled at her, completely ready to list all the reasons why Merlin should have trusted him with his secret, but a memory from some time ago arose unbidden in his mind, his own words echoing back to him, cutting through his half-formed retort like a knife.

"_I am indebted to you, Merlin. I had become…confused. It is once again clear to me that those who practice magic are evil and dangerous…and that is thanks to you."_

And just like that, everything else rose to the surface—every time that he had said something to Merlin that would have pushed the boy further away, that would have convinced anyone that Arthur would never protect a sorcerer, no matter who they were or what they had done.

How many times had Arthur said something cruel and hateful about sorcerers or magic in front of Merlin, unknowingly stabbing the boy over and over again where it hurt the most?

"_You know how dangerous magic is."_

"_My father has warned me about sorcerers like him. They will not rest until our kingdom is destroyed."_

"_You can not trust a single word a sorcerer says. You'd do well to remember that."_

How many times had Merlin wanted to tell him? How many times had the warlock gathered his courage to say something, to expose his secret, only for Arthur to say or do something that destroyed every shred of confidence he had found? How many times had Arthur made it perfectly clear that he hated lying to his father in order to protect his servant, that his tolerance for doing so was running out?

How many times had he implied that Merlin didn't matter, that he was useless, expendable, worthless?

"_Arthur? Thank you."_

"_For what, exactly?"_

"_For…"_

"_Lying to my father to save your worthless hide?"_

"_Yes."_

"_If you ever put me in that position again, I'll clap you in irons myself."_

There were so many times, so many small things that he had done that must have hurt Merlin—every time he had condemned someone for using magic, every careless comment made—and then there were also the moments where he _hadn't_ protected Merlin, hadn't listened to him or believed him even though the boy had never actually been wrong when something was threatening Camelot. He always tried to warn Arthur even when his accusations could have gotten him put in the stocks or thrown in the dungeons or _flogged_, and even though Arthur rarely resorted to any of those, and never the flogging (just the thought of it made him feel a bit sick), he still never believed Merlin, not until he had his own proof.

But still…still, Merlin should have trusted him, should have believed in him.

…Right?

A single moment broke through all the rest, one that explained exactly why Merlin hadn't told him.

"_Arrest him."_

When Gaius had been possessed by the goblin, he had accused Merlin of sorcery, and Arthur had been ordered to arrest him. It wasn't the first time that his father had ordered that of him, but this time…this time he had gone through with it. This time he hadn't let Merlin go, hadn't told him to leave Camelot, to save himself, and he couldn't help but wonder if things would have been different if he had found Merlin on his own, without the company of the guards. Would he have been able to drag Merlin to the throne room on his own and shove him in front of his father to receive judgment, knowing that to do so would be to sentence him to death?

Or would he have let him go instead, told him to run, spared his life?

The fact that he didn't have an immediate answer to that question hurt more than it should have, but the pain was there nonetheless.

Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because before he knew it, Gwen was speaking again, her voice having softened a great deal, but the disappointment was still there.

"Merlin does trust you, Arthur. He trusts you with his life, and that's because you earned it. Trust isn't something you're entitled to. I know you were raised to believe otherwise, but I'm sure you know better than that by now. You should never have thought that he would trust you with something like this, not when you haven't earned it and not when you're doing nothing to earn it now. You've been horrible to him ever since we got back when all he wants is to talk to you about this and for you to listen to him for a change."

Her expression fell into something tired and sad, and he would have done almost anything to change it, anything except what she was asking him to do, because he still had so much to think about. He didn't want to talk to Merlin. He wasn't ready yet. He wasn't sure if he could face him without doing something that he'd regret, still far too angry to act without being rash.

Gwen didn't seem ready to accept his answer though, her expression falling a little more with each admonishment.

"You've been so wrapped up in yourself and how you're feeling that you haven't even bothered to look at him. Are you so self-centered, Arthur Pendragon, that you can't see how much your silence is killing him? He's been keeping a part of himself hidden for so long, and now that he doesn't have to anymore, you insist on pushing him away, ignoring him. He has spent his whole life hiding, afraid of what would happen if someone ever found out. Can you even begin to imagine what it's like, living in a world that would have you killed simply for being born? Do you have any idea how _lonely _he must have been?"

Loneliness. That was actually something Arthur understood rather well, because that's what most of his life had been filled with even if he hadn't fully realized the extent of it until Merlin had stumbled into his life. He had always been surrounded by people, was never actually alone, but there was a big difference between being alone and being lonely. Even amongst others his own age, there had always been something separating him from the rest of them, something vast that no one had ever tried to cross, not really…except for Merlin.

People always saw the crown first and the man second. He was always told what he wanted to hear, was treated as if he were special, as if he could do no wrong. Bootlickers, the lot of them, befriending him and respecting him out of duty or ambition (and perhaps fear as well), hoping that it would get them somewhere one day. It had everything to do with what he was, not who, but Merlin…with Merlin it had always been the opposite. The crown didn't matter to him, it never had.

Merlin didn't care about birthrights or heritage. With him it was always a matter of who a person was, not what they were born as.

Even though he hadn't let the warlock explain and had mostly ignored his babbling and pleading that day in the woods, he had caught enough to understand that Merlin had been born the way he was, able to do magic before he could talk, condemned by Camelot's laws the moment he took his first breath. His magic had been with him his whole life. It had never been a choice.

Merlin didn't just _have _magic. For all intents and purposes, he _was_ magic.

What must it have been like, growing up so close to Camelot's borders with a gift that could have gotten him killed? Hunith had to have known, and she would have cautioned him against using it, told him to hide it, keep it secret. He would have grown up isolated from the rest of the village, forced to pretend to be something he wasn't, something less than he was, unable to share such a huge part of himself. It had been just him and Hunith in Ealdor, just his mother that he could have shared his talents with, been himself around, and though it was a lot, it could never be enough.

He couldn't even begin to imagine what it was like, how lonely Merlin must have been, and he couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if Merlin really hadn't had anyone to turn to, no one to support him, to guide him. The fear and the loneliness would have been overwhelming, could have easily turned into hatred and anger, a bitter malice that builds up and slowly destroys everything good and kind in a person.

_Just like Morgana_, his mind whispered.

Maybe Merlin would have turned out like Morgana, angry and bitter about the hand fate had dealt him and at the people who didn't understand.

If it hadn't been for Hunith, for his friend Will (and Arthur was certain that Will hadn't been a sorcerer, that he had simply found out about Merlin and had cared enough to protect him), for Lancelot, and for Gaius, would Merlin have lost sight of himself, been consumed by power and a desire to be known?

Could something like that still happen if Arthur continued to ignore the warlock, an act that may as well have screamed rejection even though that wasn't his intent?

Arthur slumped down in his chair, pointedly not looking at anything, especially not at Gwen, and he knew that he had lost. The anger was still there, as was the hurt, and all of it was still so overwhelming and raw, but he would never heal unless he dealt with the problem. He could only run away for so long. All he really wanted was for things to go back to the way they were, because as much as he didn't want to admit it, he _missed_ his servant…missed his friend.

"Promise me you'll talk to him, Arthur."

"…I will."

In the end, he didn't really have a choice in the matter, did he? Too much was at stake for him to keep his silence.

"I _will_ talk to him, I just…need some time to think."

* * *

><p>It wasn't until a full two weeks had passed since that day in the forest that Arthur thought he might be able to face Merlin. They needed to talk about this, because he really did have a lot of questions and Merlin was the only one with the answers. The whole thing needed to be dealt with so that the world could return to some semblance of normal, because Camelot was dealing with too much already and this was one mess that could actually be cleared up.<p>

The only problem was that Merlin had stopped trying.

After being ignored for almost two weeks, treated like an inconvenience (worthless, unwanted, a _traitor_), Merlin had stopped talking altogether, had stopped approaching Arthur unless he had to. It would have been so easy to brush it off and say that the boy was finally acting the way a servant was supposed to, but that would be an insult not just to him but to the rest of the servants as well, because no one should ever be forced into what Merlin had become. Where there had once been good-natured banter, energy, joy, and an insolence that was born more from a sense of companionship than defiance, there was now silence, resignation, and an obedience that had nothing to do with subservience and everything to do with giving up, losing hope, breaking.

There was no smile, no light, no words, just nothing but sorrow and a deep loneliness…and it was all Arthur's fault.

He had gone too far, pushed and pulled too hard in his anger, always yelling at Merlin even when it was uncalled for, even when he was just giving the boy chores, and at first Merlin had responded much the way he always did but with a subdued amount of sarcasm and a little more respect (and there had been fear too, mixed with the slightest bit of hope that everything would eventually return to normal if he could just hold on long enough). He had been trying to repair the damage on his own, one step at a time, while Arthur had just kept tearing things back down, had yelled in anger, glared with resentment, thrown insults and accusations and anything he could get his hands on, harder and faster and with the intent to punish, to _hurt_.

And Merlin…

Merlin hadn't done anything. He had taken it all, held on and dealt with it for as long as he could, and when it finally got to be too much, he had closed himself off. Arthur couldn't help but fear that he had waited too long to talk to Merlin, that it was too late to repair all the damage between them.

Some things, once broken, just couldn't be fixed.

You don't always get a second chance.

That was why when Merlin walked into his room and set his breakfast down, going about the morning chores without a word and a sad, tired look on his face, Arthur found himself unable to speak. He knew what needed to be said, how greatly he needed to apologize for every wound—physical and emotional—that he had caused, but he couldn't find the words, couldn't even open his mouth for fear of what he might say, and his pride certainly wasn't helping any, adamant about getting in his way.

It was completely ridiculous to be afraid of something seemingly so small and simple, but he just couldn't say anything, because what if it all went wrong? What if Merlin was actually angry with him and refused to forgive him for his cruelty? What if he decided that Arthur really wasn't worth waiting around for like this and simply left Camelot? What if it was too late and they could no longer go back to what they were?

What if he made the attempt to fix this only to find that he really couldn't bring himself to forgive Merlin?

It was stupid and illogical, but it was fear nonetheless, and it kept him quiet the whole morning and then for the rest of the day, and as Merlin took his leave that night, Arthur found himself wanting to say something only to choke on the words.

_Tomorrow, then._

He would definitely deal with it tomorrow.

…Except he didn't.

Every time a new day dawned, he would prepare himself to say something while biting back his pride and convincing himself that apologizing wasn't a sign of weakness, and each morning he lost his resolve upon seeing Merlin's despondent expression, not knowing how to broach the subject. At night it would happen again, his courage failing him, and he could see the hope diminish a little more every time he stayed silent or spoke too shortly. It was uncomfortable, agonizingly so, and he wanted things to return to the way they were, where Merlin talked back and disagreed with him, where he would give as good as he got instead of taking the abuse and pretending it didn't bother him when that clearly wasn't the case.

Merlin was nothing more than a shadow of his former self—pale and sickly and worn-out, fading away a little more each day.

But as much as Arthur wanted things to go back to normal, he was still too angry and too scared of what could happen, and between going through reports, dealing with his father, and taking care of the kingdom, he didn't have a lot of time to just sit down with Merlin and talk or even figure out what he wanted to say, and so he kept putting it off, kept pushing it back, because there was always tomorrow. Merlin would always be there _tomorrow_, and so each day passed the same way, all of them slowly bleeding into each other, but every one would begin and end the same.

Despite everything, Merlin kept coming back. Merlin _always_ came back.

Before he knew it, another whole week had gone by, and still nothing had changed.

Then one morning, Merlin didn't show up.

Arthur was in the process of getting dressed on his own, grumbling about being late and hungry, and was just reaching for his jacket when the door was thrown open, banging loudly against the wall. He turned to berate the intruder for startling him and mistreating his door, but the reprimand was lost somewhere along the way when he saw Gwen standing there, breathing hard as if she had just run through the entire castle, her eyes wet with tears. She was looking at him with such sadness and desperation, and he immediately knew that something was horribly wrong.

"Gwen, what is it?" he asked, not caring if he sounded concerned, because he didn't need to hide anything from her, especially when she looked about ready to break down into tears.

For a brief moment those dark eyes bore straight into his, and behind the concern and the immense sorrow, he was certain he saw just the slightest hint of blame.

At that moment he knew what she was going to say, and his heart stopped before the words were even out, his mind screaming at him for being such an idiot—such a bloody _coward_—for proving right every insult ever thrown his way and for earning each and every reproachful, accusing glare. He had been such an arrogant _fool_, and now it was too late_, too late_…

He had waited too long.

No second chances.

"It's Merlin," she said, her voice breaking. "Something's happened to Merlin."


	2. Part 2

**Part 2**

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><p><em>~And this is how it ends, with something grand and something simple, because it will always be the big choices that set our direction, but it is the smallest of the choices we make that get us to the destination~<em>

* * *

><p>It was a bit of a blur, really, everything that happened between leaving with Gwen and finding himself standing in Gaius' chambers, nursing the left side of his face which would probably be discolored by tomorrow. His mind was a haze of half-formed explanations, pain, fear, anger, helplessness, all jumbled up with the sight of sallow skin and shallow breaths and the knowledge that all of this was happening because of <em>him<em>…

When Arthur had suddenly burst into Gaius' chambers with Gwen close behind, he had been very single-minded, determined to find his servant and not caring about anything else. It hadn't taken long. He had found Merlin lying on a cot in the middle of the room with both Lancelot and Gwaine at his bedside. The moment they had noticed the prince, Lancelot had looked away and Gwaine had glared at him, a look filled with anger and accusation, the two things that all of them had to be feeling but couldn't bring themselves to show (Gwaine had never had any such reserve).

Gaius had been at his table with a stack of books, flipping through pages with a weary look on his face. He had glanced up briefly only to acknowledge the prince before going back to his task, casting just one sad look towards his ward, and Merlin…

Merlin had just been lying there—pale, boneless, exhausted (the dark circles under his eyes looked like bruises), and each breath he took was short and shallow. The boy was silent and still, unmoving, unresponsive…lifeless.

Something that had been building up inside him over the past three weeks had finally snapped, and in that moment all hell had broken loose.

He doesn't fully remember what happened afterwards, only that he probably deserved what he got. He can remember yelling at them all, demanding to know what had happened, what was wrong, lashing out at all of them as if they were the ones responsible only for Gwaine to finally lose the tentative hold on his anger. He had punched Arthur in the face before yelling at him, saying he had _no right _because this was _all your fault, you selfish bastard!_

There had been even more yelling and another punch before Arthur had instinctively fought back, and he knows they broke some things and knocked over others, but neither of them had cared. There had been a lot of shouting and arguing (and so much hostility, so much blame) before Lancelot had managed to pull Gwaine away while Gaius yelled at all of them for behaving so foolishly and making such a mess, because none of it was going to change anything.

None of it would help Merlin.

Once all of them had calmed down enough to be rational, Gaius had explained as best he could what was going on. He had told them how Merlin hadn't been feeling well lately, losing more and more sleep, how his magic had been acting up, not doing what he wanted it to until he had simply given up on trying. Merlin had become despondent, pulling away from even Gaius, and eventually he had fallen "ill." It wasn't the right word, but it was the only one that fit, the only way to illustrate the fact that Merlin was unwell, his body fighting for a life that his mind was slowly letting go of.

The rest of the explanation made even less sense, because of course Merlin's situation would revolve around his _magic_, the one thing Arthur didn't know much about and didn't understand, and yet it seemed to be at the center of everything. Merlin's illness was magical in nature. His own magic was doing this to him in some misguided attempt to help him. The warlock had been in so much pain that it had simply reacted, and this was the result.

That was all Gaius knew for certain; he would have to look into it further, he said, but there was another truth hidden in his explanation, something that none of them were saying but that all of them knew.

Gwaine had been right in his accusation.

In the end, this was all Arthur's fault.

That was how he had ended up sitting in Gaius' chambers, watching his servant—his _friend_, _damn it all_—slip away and wishing he could change things. If only he could just go back to that day in the forest, make a different choice and save them all from this torture, from the hell he had put Merlin through. With just one choice he had managed to ruin everything. He had thought it was the right one, that there had only been two options: spare Merlin's life or see him executed. He hadn't even considered that there might be more to it than that, that there were other choices he could have made.

If only he could go back, do things differently…

But there was no going back, no second chances. He knew as much, that the past couldn't be changed. Even after being warned that something big would happen, that a choice that could very well change everything would have to be made, he hadn't been able to heed the warning, at least not properly. That young woman had sacrificed everything to warn him, and in the end he had failed. She had died in vain.

And now Merlin was dying too.

Gaius informed them that there was nothing they could do, that he would need to read further in order to find a solution and that Merlin was not likely to wake anytime soon, but they all stayed anyway. There were things all of them were supposed to be doing, matters to attend to, but it was clear that none of them cared. Even if Arthur ordered the two knights to attend training or to patrol the city, they would probably refuse, and there was honestly no reason for them to go when he wouldn't be going either. He wasn't going anywhere unless Gaius asked him to, because even though he had reports to read and people to meet with, an entire kingdom to look after…this was more important.

He had spent three weeks ignoring Merlin, knowing that something needed to be done but always putting it off, noticing that something was wrong but never asking. He had allowed this to happen—he had _made_ this happen—and until they could find a way to fix it, he would stay with Merlin. He would suffer the silence and the looks and all the guilt, because he deserved it. He would deal with the disapproval of the court, with the reports that would pile up, and with all the rumors that this would likely create. It was a small price to pay.

The five of them stayed with Merlin all day, sending messages when needed, leaving only when necessary, and taking their meals together. They explained the general situation to anyone who asked, accepted the visitors that mattered, that cared, and turned away all those who couldn't understand, who thought they were all being unreasonable. It didn't take long for people to learn who was welcome within Gaius' chambers and who wasn't. Word always traveled fast in Camelot.

At the end of the day, with no solution in sight, Gaius finally sent them all away, and Arthur promised he would return in the morning. He wasn't at all surprised to hear the rest of them do the same.

The last thing he saw before walking out that door was something he had never wanted to see—the sight of a once hopeful mask crumbling away as Gaius closed the book before him, placing his head in his hands and giving in to the sheer helplessness of it all. His disheartened sigh came out as nothing more than a choked off sob.

That one heartbreaking image said more than any explanation ever could.

Arthur wasn't at all surprised when he couldn't fall asleep that night. He was even less surprised that the rest of them hadn't been able to either.

It became painfully obvious during the second day that despite all the tension between them, they were going to have to come to a compromise. Nothing would ever be accomplished otherwise, and so even though Gwaine still looked like he wanted to punch him and Lancelot kept giving him disappointed glances, the two knights kept their silence, and in return Arthur didn't try to make excuses for his actions.

In the end though, it was Gwen who finally broke the silent tension, passing the time by asking Gaius questions about Merlin and his magic, about all the things she was certain he must have done but had never taken the credit for, always passing it on to someone else or simply hiding the truth. For every question asked, Gaius gave an honest, detailed answer, and even though it was clear that he thought it would be better for Merlin to do this instead, he still launched into stories about his ward and some of the amazing, noble things he had done with his gifts.

It was in that time, sitting together around their friend's bedside, that Arthur learned just how far Merlin was willing to go for the people he cared about and just how much the warlock had truly sacrificed for his prince.

Days passed like that, each one more drawn out than the last, and with every day that came and went without any improvement, it only got harder to deal with everything else. They all went back to their duties eventually, just the bare minimum, and every time they finished, they would all go right back to sitting around, watching Gaius flip through every page of each new book, just waiting for something that became less and less likely to happen. No matter what they did, nothing ever seemed to change, and there was no solution in sight.

After the fifth day, Gaius stopped searching.

Before they knew it, another whole week had gone by, but it wasn't until the next morning that something _finally_ changed.

…Only it wasn't for the better.

They were all sitting around Gaius' chambers, doing whatever they could to keep from being idle, when the gentle rhythm of Merlin's shallow breathing suddenly faltered, a sharp breath being taken when it shouldn't have been, followed by one much softer but no longer in time with the rest. They kept coming like that, softer and softer, further and further apart, until his chest was barely moving at all.

Instantly they were all at his side, the fear palpable between them as Gaius began to examine the boy, taking his pulse and listening to his breathing, his heart…and when the physician finally pulled away, it was with a grim, hopeless, and very resigned look on his face, as if he had expected something like this to happen, had been preparing for it.

"Gaius…?"

Arthur barely recognized his own voice, so tired and quiet, tripping over just one word. The physician merely shook his head, unable to look at any of them as he gripped his ward's pale hand.

"I'm sorry…" the old man said softly. It was unclear who the apology was meant for.

All of them, perhaps.

There was another long silence before the man shook his head again, opening his mouth to say something but unable to get the words out. He swallowed thickly, and all of them could see the unshed tears threatening to spill over while he tried to find his voice. Just two more words, but they were ones that no one wanted to hear.

"…He's fading."

Two words, and suddenly the entire world seemed to be holding its breath.

_No…_

Arthur clenched his fists at his sides, his nails digging into the skin of his palms, but the pain didn't even register, because this…this was so _wrong_. Everything about it felt wrong, because Merlin _couldn't die_. He just couldn't, not like this, not now, not after everything that had happened and everything that still needed to. It wasn't fair and it wasn't right.

How many more people had to be taken away from him until the world was satisfied? He had lost family, friends, so many people, and now…_now_ he was losing Merlin, and Arthur knew he had no right to plead for his friend's life, for the warlock to be spared, not when he was the reason this was happening in the first place. What right did he have to ask for a life back that he had pushed towards death, to change his mind when this was a result of the choice _he_ had made?

There had to be a way to fix this, to change things, because it couldn't end like this, with so much left unsaid and everything still broken around them. It wasn't _supposed_ to end like this, because if there was a single person in all of Camelot (in all the world, even) who _didn't_ deserve this, it was Merlin. He always looked out for everyone but himself, putting the lives of others first and never expecting anything in return for his compassion. He was a good man—loyal, selfless, kind, and so much braver than anyone gave him credit for, and yet no one had ever thanked him for any of it. More often than not his sacrifices went unnoticed and unappreciated, but he never stopped doing what he believed to be right no matter how much he might suffer for it—and Merlin _had_ suffered, more than they would probably ever know.

How many times had he given a part of himself away, so willing and trusting, only to lose everything, to have his heart cast aside or torn away like it meant nothing?

And Merlin—stupid, unassuming, loyal, innocent Merlin—never said a word, never sought praise, never turned his back on a world that wasn't fair—no resentment, no greed, no hatred. He had simply kept going, kept trying, working towards an unseen goal with an unnatural amount of dedication and a smile on his face.

_Why?_

What could keep a person going like that, living through the fear and the loneliness and the pain?

What was it that he had believed in so unfailingly?

"_It is your fate to be the greatest king that Camelot has ever known."_

His mind froze, his thoughts stopping aside from the words echoing in his head, things that Merlin had said to him that had never quite fit, that had always held something more, something profound that he had never been able to place.

The answer to his question…

"_Well, I know you. You're a great warrior. One day, you'll be a great king."_

It couldn't really be that simple, could it?

"_I'm happy to be your servant…till the day I die."_

And just like that, Arthur _finally_ got it.

All this time, all those years, and no matter how hard things must have been at times, Merlin had never left. Despite all the risks to himself, he had stayed by Arthur's side—served him, protected him, and not because he wanted something in return or was seeking recognition.

Merlin had stayed because he _believed_ in him, in the kind of king—the kind of man—Arthur would become.

He had stayed because he had _faith_ in Arthur.

_And I threw that away._

The realization came like a crushing blow, leaving him winded and gasping, and he almost wished that someone really _would_ hit him, because he sure as hell deserved it. What an arrogant, selfish _fool_ he was. He had spent so much time being angry (being hurt) about the fact that Merlin hadn't trusted him when the warlock had actually given him something so much more than his trust.

Trust was something that had to be built and nurtured, earned through acts and reasons, but faith was something completely different, something that wasn't certain, a belief in what often couldn't be proven or seen. After everything that had happened, everything that had been said, and all that Arthur had done, Merlin had never once lost faith in him. He had kept believing, patiently waiting for a day where he wouldn't have to hide, where he would be accepted, all the while not knowing if such a day would actually come or if he would live long enough to see it.

He had spent all those years believing that Arthur would one day become someone he could trust with his secret, his faith in that future never wavering.

That bloody stupid warlock had dedicated himself to the son of Uther Pendragon, to a kingdom that would watch him burn without a second thought. Merlin had been protecting them _all_ (and how ignorant he had been not to have noticed, because luck could only get a person so far, and his luck had only started bordering on miraculous after Merlin had stumbled into his life). They probably owed him their lives a hundred times over, maybe more, and he had never been thanked for any of it, but still he didn't stop. He had never once abandoned Camelot, its king, its prince…but Arthur…

Arthur had abandoned Merlin. _"Traitor!"_ he had shouted.

In the end, who was the real traitor?

Merlin had accepted everything there was to accept about him, had befriended him despite his arrogance, his ingratitude, all of his flaws, and yet when given the same chance, the same opportunity, the same _choice_…Arthur had turned his back on Merlin.

The warlock was fading away because he had lost hope in being forgiven, being accepted for who he was, for what he couldn't help being, and if the world you believe in falls apart around you, then what is there left to hold on to?

They say—whoever _they _are—that hope is the last to die. Merlin had believed in him, and Arthur had let him down. He had caused so much pain, so much sorrow, and he knew what those looked like, what they could do to a person. He had seen them everyday in his father's anger, and he could see them now as well in the man's brokeness. He knew that hurt and fear, grief and loneliness, could build up and fester until they became an all-consuming loss, one that would eventually lead to either hatred and bitterness or a deep-seated sorrow and hopelessness, slowly eating away at a person until there was nothing left. Now that he looked at it, he could see that Morgana had succumbed to the former, had let everything build up until all that was left was bitterness and resentment, a hatred too deep to come back from.

When your world turns its back on you and there's nothing left but despair, you can either turn your back on the world or fall away from it.

He should have known that given the choice, Merlin would choose the latter, would allow himself to slowly fade away, holding on for as long as he could until there was just nothing left to hold on to. Despite everything, Merlin hadn't turned to anger or hatred, hadn't cast blame. Instead he had closed himself off, had allowed himself to fall into despair until the pain became so great that even his magic couldn't take it anymore, couldn't stand to watch him suffer. It was connected to him, so intertwined with his being that to pull it from his body would likely kill him, because Merlin wasn't just a sorcerer—he was _magic_—and so it only made sense that it would react this way to his pain, eating away at him just like everything else.

Eventually there would be nothing left.

Merlin was going to die. He was dying because he no longer had anything to hold on to, nothing left to hope for. Arthur had taken it from him without knowing, without realizing what the consequences would be. He had chosen to turn his back without meaning to. _That_ was the choice he had made. It had never been about choosing to spare Merlin's life or not. Despite the severity of that decision, it had actually been an easy one (just the thought of watching Merlin burn made him feel sick). He had thought that was all there was to it, that his choice had been made and his vow kept.

He had been wrong.

_No more._

If he really was the reason this was happening, the reason Merlin was letting go, then he would give him a reason to stay. He was going to fix this—he _would_ fix this—and he wouldn't think about what might happen if he didn't, because Camelot without Merlin wouldn't be the same, would never feel like home again.

A few years ago he hadn't even known that Merlin existed, and now he couldn't seem to picture his life without him.

Arthur knew what needed to be done, what he would have to do, and it wasn't something that came easy. No one had ever taught him how to push everything aside and simply say what needed to be said, because he always had to be careful, had to control his words, couldn't appear soft or scared or _weak_. He was the crown prince of Camelot, and there were expectations to be met, standards to be upheld, always about duty and never about feelings. He wasn't supposed to care as much as he did and certainly not for a mere servant, but that was how things had turned out.

Merlin was his friend, and the boy needed to know that, regardless of how difficult it would be for Arthur to let down all his barriers, to say what needed to be said without trying to cover it up. He was going to have to risk damaging his pride, but when compared to everything else, it was really a small price to pay. Wounded pride would heal over time, but this… There would be no coming back from this.

If there was one thing he had learned from his life, from his father's life and everything in between, it was that once something was lost, you could never get it back. You could spend your whole life trying and only achieve a slight resemblance of what you once had.

Shattered trust, damaged pride, a broken relationship—they could all be repaired, built back up over time, but death was something permanent, where there were no second chances.

He wouldn't let it come to that.

Taking a deep breath, Arthur focused on what he had to do, shoving aside everything that didn't matter, letting the lingering sense of anger and hurt fade away, because this wasn't about him, and he had no right to feel either after what he had done. With nothing but determination and the desperation that came with the thought of losing someone important to him, he moved to the warlock's bedside. His sudden movement drew everyone's attention, but he kept his eyes on Merlin, afraid that if he looked away now, he would lose the only chance he had.

There was just one thing he needed to do first.

"Could you give me a moment alone with him," he began, his voice soft and tight, and he could practically feel the sudden tension in the air, knew that if no one else, Gwaine would have something to say about this, but he needed it to be this way, and if pleading was what it took, then so be it. "_Please_…"

It came out so very raw and thick with emotion that everything seemed to stop again, to freeze for just a moment as if the whole world was judging him, weighing his words and his intentions to decide if he deserved this (and he didn't, probably never would, but he would spend the rest of his life earning it if he had to).

He didn't look away from Merlin, but he heard movement, and from the corner of his eye he saw Gaius shift, letting go of his ward's hand and moving around the bed. He could feel the physician watching him, and so for just a moment he allowed himself to meet the man's eyes, and he could see the sorrow and the helplessness, the loss, the blame, but there was also a question there, as well as the tinniest spark of hope.

Arthur only prayed that his own gaze was as expressive, that Gaius could see everything he was trying to show, and there must have been something there that the physician felt he could trust, because he gave a brief nod before looking away and then ushering the others out of the room. It was clear they didn't want to leave, but since it was Gaius, all of them listened without complaint.

Lancelot and Gwen both looked back at him, their eyes pleading but also trusting, believing in him, and he probably didn't deserve it, but it was enough to push him forward. Even Gwaine, beneath the accusing stare, was showing just the smallest bit of hope.

When the door closed, leaving him alone with Merlin, he quickly turned his attention back to his servant, watching as the boy took each and every shallow breath, his chest barely moving. He knew that this would be his only chance to say what needed to be said, what he should have said from the beginning, but he didn't know how or even where to start. He had no plan, but he didn't have time either, and so he stopped thinking about it and simply let the words come out as they saw fit, ignoring his need for restraint, because this had nothing to do with upholding an image or being a prince and everything to do with being a friend. He didn't care if Merlin no longer saw him as one, if he resented Arthur, blamed him. It didn't matter.

He just wanted those eyes to open again. That was all.

"I know you can hear me," he said, his voice low and thick with everything he hadn't allowed himself to show before. "I know you're still there, somewhere, because I won't accept the idea that you're not. You're a lot stronger than anyone gives you credit for, Merlin, so you have to be there, because I have a lot to say."

He took a deep breath and allowed everything to wash over him, getting caught up and not caring that he was no longer in control. All of it had been building up for so long, but no more. Merlin had always been someone he could talk to without having to worry, someone who would listen to him, someone he could confide in, and he wasn't going to let that change.

"I…I'm sorry, Merlin. I don't really know how else to say it. I know you probably can't forgive me, and I'm not expecting you to. I don't deserve it, but I swear to you, I never meant for this to happen. I didn't mean to keep ignoring you, to make you think I wouldn't forgive you, and I _never_ meant—"

He stopped, took a deep breath, cleared his head, and began again.

"No. No more excuses. This isn't about me. It should _never_ have been about me."

Arrogant, selfish… If asked, he would have said he wasn't.

How ignorant he had been.

"I'm sorry, Merlin. I'm sorry I yelled at you, ignored you, and I'm sorry for every injury I caused. Even though you never said anything, I know I hurt you. You should have said something. You're rather good at that. You _never_ let me get away with things, always letting me know in your own way when I'm being a prat. You _always_ tell me what you think, so _why_…why didn't you—Merlin, _why _didn't you _say_ something?"

No change, not even a twitch, and he couldn't stop the words. They just kept coming, every one louder than the last.

"You really are an idiot, aren't you Merlin? You never backed down before, so why—_damn it_, why didn't you _do_ something? You're a powerful sorcerer, you complete _idiot_, so why didn't you do anything? How could you just let this happen? Why didn't you try harder or just make me listen, you…!"

A sharp, pained gasp, followed by a moment of complete silence where nothing moved, and Arthur felt like his heart might just stop…but then that soft, slow rhythm returned, and he found himself choking on the fear that had risen in that brief moment.

No more holding back, no more hesitating, no more distractions. His status, his pride, the law, magic, all of it be damned! He was _not_ going to let Merlin die. That clumsy, sarcastic, ridiculous warlock was his friend, his _best_ friend, the first real friend he had ever had, but he was also so much more than that, something that couldn't be put into words, and even if Arthur had to apologize a thousand times over in front of the whole of Camelot to repay the debt he owed, he would. He would do it gladly, would do anything asked of him if Merlin would just _open his eyes_.

Slowly the prince moved closer, lifting his arms and reaching out. He wasn't good at this, never had been, but he needed the connection. He very carefully placed his hands on either side of Merlin's face, gently turning the warlock's head until he was facing Arthur. He was so pale, skin cold to the touch, and it took everything Arthur had to stop himself from trembling at the thought of what it all meant. He swallowed hard and opened his mouth, trying to keep his voice steady, because if ever there was something that he needed to say, that Merlin needed to hear, it was this.

"Merlin," he began, praying to anyone that would listen that his words would get through, just please_, please let him hear me…_

"You once told me that the reason you left home and came to Camelot was because you no longer fit in, and that you wanted to find somewhere that you did."

He swallowed hard, his voice giving away everything that he had always known but had never let himself say.

"You _do_ have a place, Merlin. You belong _here_. You belong with Gaius and Gwen, with Lancelot, Gwaine, and…me. You belong with me."

This was the only chance he was going to get, his last chance to save the closest friend he had ever had, and he was going to make it count. No matter what the cost, he wasn't going to let him slip away. His eyes burned at the very thought.

He couldn't let Merlin die like this—die because of him—afraid and alone and without knowing the truth. He pushed everything back, swallowed every last shred of pride, every fear of weakness, and simply spoke straight from the heart.

It wasn't easy.

But nothing worthwhile ever is.

"Please, I…I need you _here_, Merlin. I've been such an _idiot_. I didn't mean a word I said, and I'm sorry."

_Incompetent, worthless, unwanted, useless…_

"I honestly don't know _why_ you believe in me, because right now I can't really see anything worth believing in. I've been cruel and unfair, and it's alright if you can't forgive me, because I don't deserve it."

_Idiot, fool, liar, traitor…_

"But I swear to you…I swear I'll become the king you said I'll be, the kind of man you believe me to be, even if it takes my whole life. I'll build a kingdom that we can all be proud of."

_Sorcerer, warlock, servant, companion, confidant, adviser, protector, friend…_

"When…when I'm king, you'll never have to hide who you are ever again. Until then, we'll keep you safe. You'll never be alone again, I promise, so please Merlin…please wake up."

His last plea echoed softly in the empty room, fading gently. There was a deep breath and a long exhale, a shudder and a soft sigh…and then nothing.

Everything fell silent.

"…Merlin…?"

…Nothing.

There was _nothing_, and suddenly Arthur couldn't remember how to breathe.

It's so very easy to take for granted what's always there, because people only seem to notice something when it's gone. It's also nothing short of ignorant to believe that something will last forever, that things will never change. Everything has to end eventually. Sometimes all you can do is accept it and move on.

But this…the silence, the stillness, a heart so mistreated that it could no longer remember how to beat…

There was no way in _hell_ Arthur was accepting this.

"No, _no_, come on, just…just listen to me, Merlin."

He grabbed the boy by the shoulders and shook him, ignoring the way those eyes remained closed, face slack and lips parted even though no air traveled past.

"You need to wake up. You need to _breathe_, Merlin!"

This couldn't happen.

"_Please_, I'll do anything! I'll apologize a hundred times over, for the rest of my life if that's what it takes! I swear I'll do anything you ask, give you whatever you want, but you have to open your eyes!"

Merlin wasn't allowed to leave.

"I know I've kept you waiting, but I'm ready to listen now! Please, just give me one more chance! Please, just wake _up_…!"

He doesn't remember when the tears began to fall and he doesn't care either, even as his voice fails him, his throat dry and his words raw. At some point his legs must have given out, because he suddenly finds himself kneeling on the hard floor, one hand still gripping his friend's shoulder, the other digging into a thin wrist, waiting for something that refused to return.

"…You can't _leave_."

It was nothing more than a broken whisper, quiet even amongst the silence.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. I never should have let this happen."

_It's my fault, all of it._

The grief, the guilt, the regret… He couldn't imagine living the rest of his life like this, poisoned by all of it, haunted by everything left unsaid.

He couldn't imagine living without Merlin.

"Please, I…I don't want you to go. I _need_ you. You're the first person who ever accepted me for who I am, and I'm sorry it's taken me so long to finally say this."

There was no reason to hold anything back when he had nothing left to lose.

"_Thank _you, Merlin…for everything. I could never have asked for a better friend. You're…you're the best friend I've ever had, and I…I _can't_…"

_I can't do this without you._

"Please, just wake up. Open your eyes. _Please_, Merlin…"

_I can't lose you._

"…Don't go."

_Don't go…_

He kept forming the words even though he could no longer find the energy to say them, his whole body trembling, face pressed into the sheets to hide the tears he couldn't keep from falling.

He would have given anything to go back, to try again, do things differently, be a better friend, but he had already been given so many opportunities, so many chances to set things right, and he had ignored them all.

He had no right to ask for one more.

_Please, Merlin…_

But he kept asking anyway.

…_Don't leave._

It felt like he was drowning, the air too thick to breathe, and he was so completely lost in all of it that he didn't notice the gentle pressure beneath his fingers, his hand still wrapped tightly around a slender wrist.

There was one last beat of silence, one last heart-wrenching sob…and then the world around him released a collective breath—a deep, shuttering sigh that made his heart stop and his mind race. He shot to his feet, leaning over the bed and just watching as the boy below him took a deep breath, then another, falling into a steady rhythm while his pulse grew stronger and the color slowly returned to his face.

Merlin was alive. His heart was beating, his body breathing, and Arthur could almost feel the warm thrum of the boy's magic just beneath his skin, flowing just as naturally as the blood through his veins. There was a soft sigh, a quiet groan, a bit of restless shifting…and then two blue eyes blinked open, and everything slotted back into place.

For the longest time, Arthur couldn't find his voice. He simply stared at the warlock, hardly daring to believe that this was real (because life was good at giving him the things he wanted only to snatch them away), but then those eyes turned to him, their gaze soft and hazy from being closed for so long. There was a fondness there, a loyalty and respect that he didn't deserve, warm and kind, and it would probably vanish the moment Merlin came back to himself, when he remembered what happened.

One day Arthur would get it all back, and this time around he would make sure he had earned it.

For a while Merlin simply looked at him, blinking slowly, and when he finally opened his mouth to speak, his voice came out as nothing more than a breath, so soft that Arthur wouldn't have heard had he not been listening for it.

"…Arthur?"

He could only nod—he was far too anxious to speak—waiting with baited breath for something to happen but dreading the moment it would.

He watched as those dark eyes finally opened a bit more fully, the haze lifting away…and in that moment, something in him _broke_. Those eyes hid nothing, and Arthur could finally see just how much damage he had caused, all the pain and the uncertainty, because with Merlin's returning awareness came the realization of what had happened to him. He clearly remembered everything that had occurred over the past few weeks if his expression was anything to go by. He looked tired, sad, and so very lonely and afraid, those eyes hopeless and pleading…

There was so much to make up for.

"Arthur," Merlin began softly, his voice a bit stronger but a little shaky, unsure. "I…"

"What is it?" he asked just as quietly, urging his friend to say what he wanted, and this time he would listen.

"…I'm sorry."

Arthur froze, his stomach twisting painfully as he stared at the warlock, unable to believe what he had just heard. Those two words said more than thousands of others ever could, and he didn't deserve _any_ of it. He had been cruel and unforgiving, had practically tortured his friend, pushed him to the brink of death and then left him hanging over it. He had been so angry at Merlin for not telling him about the magic, for not trusting him with his secrets even though Arthur had done nothing to earn that right. He had never even said _thank you_ for saving their lives that day, and he should have, because in the end Merlin could have let them die, could have kept his secret hidden and safe, but instead he had placed their lives above his own. He had saved them without a second thought, effectively putting his own life in Arthur's hands only for the prince to cast it aside like it meant nothing.

_This isn't right._ Nothing about this was right. It was all so twisted and _wrong_, and Merlin should have been angry with him, should be blaming him, but he _wasn't_, and Arthur didn't deserve to be forgiven for all the pain he had caused. He had been selfish and unfair, unjust, and the warlock had every right to hate him for it, but he didn't. There was no hate, no blame in that gaze, and he could feel his heart slowly breaking, because Merlin was looking at him with eyes so desperate and earnest, begging to be heard, believed, _trusted_. He still looked so tired and sad, so alone—small and frail despite all the power he had…and so very, _very_ lost.

In an instant, Arthur realized that he would never deserve the chance he had been given, could spend his whole life trying and only ever fall short, because despite everything he had done and all the harm he had caused, Merlin had already forgiven him.

He had always been told that magic was supposed to corrupt, to twist the soul and destroy all that is good, but how could someone look at Merlin and see anything other than kindness? How could anyone ever think that the nature of magic was evil when Merlin was anything but? He was loyal, patient, brave, wise—the truest friend that anyone could ever ask for—and Arthur had nearly thrown that away.

He had almost lost Merlin.

_Never again._

It was time to give back everything he had taken.

Without a word, Arthur slowly sat down on the edge of the cot, never once looking away from those weary eyes, and he prayed he wouldn't see fear in them. The thought of Merlin being afraid of him hurt more than he would ever be willing to admit. He moved cautiously to keep from startling the boy, no longer knowing quite where they stood, because the space between them was both small and vast, still familiar but different at the same time.

He watched as the warlock regarded him a bit curiously and then tried to sit up only for the exhaustion to set back in, his whole body tired and weak from days of disuse. There weren't words to describe the look on his face, so dismayed and defeated, and the prince could feel his heart clench painfully in response. He reached out carefully, gently slipping his arm under the boy's back before pulling him up, bracing him, but even after the warlock was sitting on his own, Arthur didn't remove his arm.

Merlin was still just looking at him with that same expression, so open and desperate, waiting for either acceptance or rejection.

It should have been obvious by now. The latter wasn't even an option.

"You idiot…" he sighed, his voice nothing more than a soft breath of air, all fond exasperation and reverence. He gently pulled Merlin forward, one arm still wrapped around him, and despite never having done this before, it felt completely natural to just let the boy fall against him, to bring his other arm up as well. He guided the warlock's head down to rest on his shoulder, knowing the boy couldn't hold himself up yet, his strength gone, taken from him in more ways than one, and all the while Merlin simply complied, allowed it all to happen. Perhaps it was because he just didn't care anymore, but maybe…

Maybe it was because he still believed in Arthur, and with that thought in mind, the prince pulled his friend just a little bit closer. He felt the warlock shift a bit, gently pressing his face into the soft, rich leather of Arthur's jacket.

"I'm sorry," Merlin whispered again, voice muffled and broken but so undeniably sincere.

"Don't be," he said as he hugged his friend closer. "You have _nothing_ to be sorry for."

He felt Merlin tense in his arms, and for a moment he was afraid that he had done something wrong until that breathless voice came again, quiet yet deafening in the silence.

"…You're _forgiving_ me?"

All the air in his lungs, all the blood in his veins—everything left in a rush, and he found himself holding on tighter, trying to find purchase, grasping as if Merlin would suddenly be taken from him, because even if he lived a thousand lifetimes, he would never be able to earn what was being given to him so freely. Somewhere along the way, he had completely failed his best friend, because there was so much awe, so much reverence in those three words, and Arthur immediately knew that the warlock had been preparing for rejection.

Merlin hadn't thought that Arthur would forgive him, and the realization of just how much destruction he had wrought cut him to the bone, left him raw and bleeding. His eyes began to burn, his throat closing up, and it took everything he had to keep from shaking with the sheer humility of it all.

When he finally found his voice, it was nothing but a choked sob.

"_Idi_ot…"

He had _so much_ to make up for.

"…There's nothing to forgive."

And just like that, all the tension and the uncertainty drained away, and Merlin slumped fully into his embrace, sighing in absolute relief before his whole body started trembling, allowing all the built up stress—all the fear and the sorrow and the hopelessness—to pour out at once. He had been pushed and pulled so far, run-down and worn-out until there was nothing left, and Arthur was really no better, already at the end of his rope from days of sleepless nights and silent days spent waiting for something he had thought was lost.

They needed this, the reassurance, something worth believing in, because with everything that had happened and all that lay ahead, this was the one place that was truly _safe_.

So Arthur just kept holding on, offering what little strength he had left as Merlin finally let himself fall apart.

And he _knew_ that it wasn't enough—it was nowhere _near_ enough, because they both had so much healing to do, so much damage to repair, and everything was still broken, lying shattered at their feet.

It would probably _never_ be enough, but…

With a quiet, heart-rending sob, Merlin brought his arms up and carefully wrapped them around Arthur, and when the prince didn't reject him, didn't push him away, the warlock pulled himself just that little bit closer…and held on tight.

It was a start.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Gods, I hope this wasn't an epic fail, and I pray that no one was OOC, because when writing something meant to be emotionally challenging for the characters, it can be difficult to gauge reactions (especially since Arthur hasn't really dealt with losing anyone in the show yet). A lot happened to Arthur though at the end of season 3, and so I imagine he would be rather emotionally taxed. I just hope I didn't stretch things unreasonably far.  
>There was so much I wanted to get across in this fic, and I fear I may have fallen short, but I sincerely hope not. It's funny though, because this whole monstrosity of a oneshot spawned from just a single piece of dialogue and a few quotes from a book about choices. I could talk for hours and hours about choices, because I adore inspirational philosophy, but I won't bore you people with the details. However, part of the anecdote at the beginning of this part did come from a quote by Dr. Shad Helmstetter's book "Choices." I just tweaked it a bit.<br>I could probably sit here and type for hours about this fic and the overall motivation behind it, but I think I won't, at least not here. Like I said before though, despite my fear of how it turned out, I'm extremely proud of this.  
>Also, I'll say this now, because I get the feeling I'll be asked at least once if I don't, but no, I don't plan on writing a companion piece from Merlin's POV or anyone else's for that matter. However, if someone else feels so inclined, go right ahead :) I don't mind. I would actually be quite honored.<p>

Guess that's it. I hope you liked it. If you didn't, that's alright, because I know my writing style isn't everyone's cup of tea. Just please don't flame. I won't ask for reviews, cause I'm a horrible reviewer, but I do appreciate them, and I'd love to know what you thought.

Thank you for reading. Until next time!


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